the art of god
complex but one
screams from silence
of the morning sun
the sea of stories
stormy but alluring
mourns for memories
of the long-lost ring
the sky of dreams
colourful but dark
lost in mazes
of the hidden sparks
or is it
the heaven and the hell
where the dead things grow?
***
we are all sometimes controlled by it, the puppeteer?
YOU ARE READING
EXTRACTION ✓
PoetryPOETRY 'such sadness; a creative mind that cannot be expressed only through those crooked smiles that left me confessed' A poetry book that speaks wonders of love, life and tragedies. All Rights Reserved by Rachel W.
